


Loyalty

by babyrubysoho



Category: Mugen no Juunin | Blade of the Immortal
Genre: Affection, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Useless Anotsu, Eventual Happy Ending, Feisty Uke, Gen, Kimono, Loyal Magatsu, M/M, Magatsu flips his shit, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rope Bondage, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magatsu goes slightly overboard in making a confession.<br/>Wow. What an awful lot of words for a PWP. Set after the Itto-ryu boys go to town on the Bakufu in Vol.23.</p><p>WARNING: The first part of this fic contains non-consensual bondage and dubiously consensual sex. Please be aware, if you are uncomfortable with these themes. (Although fear not: Anotsu is hardly the type to lie back and accept it!)</p><p>*Note: I am currently transferring 12 years’ worth of my fic from various murky corners of the Net to AO3. So if this looks familiar, that’s probably why. Either that or I’m just appallingly unoriginal…*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An ache.

Anotsu Kagehisa awakes, and has no idea where he is, or what has woken him. For that matter, he can't remember going to sleep. Warily, with a sense of apprehension, he opens his eyes, and once he has done so his pale, aristocratic face sets coldly, while his mind races: What...the _hell_...is this?  
His narrow eyes flicker across a small room, dirt floor, rough walls, a high window with sparse leaves blocking any view but lit by the red light of either a sunrise or sunset. He looks down at himself once more, as if to check he hasn't made a mistake. He hasn't.

What anyone else would see, if they were looking, and Anotsu very much hopes they are not, is a tiny hut tucked into the base of a heavily wooded winter hillside. And in that single room they would see a kneeling figure: a cold, girlish, strikingly beautiful face atop a slender body, white skin naked and intersected with lines of dark rope that bind it in deceptively elegant curves.

Anotsu carefully keeps his features immobile: he doesn't know how he got here, or who might be watching him for a sign of weakness, but he just bets it has something to do with Habaki Kagimura. He tests the extent of his bonds and swears softly under his breath, trying to peer down his own back; he can't see much, but can feel that someone has tied his arms behind him from shoulder to wrist, elbows almost meeting in the small of his back, and that whoever did this has done it extremely well. Twisting round like that sends ominous darts of pain through his limbs, enough to tell him that he has been like this for quite a long time; turning back, he surveys the _shibari_ that he can see more closely: ropes around his ribcage and across his breastbone, ropes keeping his legs folded under him. His discarded kimono is spread beneath him, his own insignia uppermost, though whether it is supposed to give him confidence or mock him is anyone's guess.

So much for getting out of this.

It's several minutes before he hears any noise, although his finely tuned hearing is straining for it, his unmatchable senses on full alert. When he does catch something, though, he bites his lip to hide a grin of relief, because he recognises that step; it has followed him obligingly for the past ten years.

The black-clad form of Magatsu Taito appears from behind him, as welcome a sight, at this moment, as anything Anotsu has ever seen. The teenager pads around him barefooted, then comes to a standstill in front of him and raises an eyebrow.

“Well. Here's another fine mess we're in,” he says calmly, and doesn't move.

“What _happened_ , Magatsu?” demands Anotsu urgently, hoping that his companion isn't angling for a familiar or sarcastic exchange just now. “How did we get here? Who caught us? _Why am I still tied up when you're standing right in front of me?_ ”

The younger man pushes a hand through his intractably spiky hair, looking as though he wants to laugh; Anotsu himself is so far from amused that he couldn't touch it with a long pole. He narrows his eyes.

“Just tell me, please...What in the _hell_ is going on?”

Magatsu sighs oddly, but seems disinclined to offer anything further. To Anotsu's astonishment, he sits down some feet away; not in his usual comfortable sprawl but a pensive, cross-legged position. Even so, Anotsu feels himself beginning to lose his temper, something very rare for him, that has not happened since the night at Edo Castle, and that was a very mild incidence.

“Magatsu Taito -” he begins, in the tones of aggravated leadership that he seldom has to use on his most loyal follower because he has always been a friend as well.

“You really don't remember anything, do you?” interrupts the other _kenshi_ , carefully, eyes not leaving his master's irate figure.

Anotsu takes a deep breath and puts his brain in order, as he's accustomed to it, and tries to ignore the pressingly disturbing factors of his immobility; what had they been doing before...this? He tries to think, but it's surprisingly hard under Magatsu's flat stare. Let's see...The last thing he remembers is walking, but that could have been any one of these days. With a start he recalls the bright flash of a _furisode_ sleeve, a note of colour in the winter woodland.

That's right. He had been striding along ahead of Magatsu, who as usual was complaining in a litany under his breath as he fought to keep up, in between their inconsequential chatter. Then around a bend in the path up ahead of them had come a young woman, a sedge hat covering her face. Her kimono was slightly too bright to be refined, Anotsu had thought: most likely a girl from the last village wearing what she thought was the height of sophistication, a little bit of a coquette at that; ah, yes, the hat tilted as she passed them and a pretty, assertive, coarse face peeked out to appraise them before she moved on.

Anotsu had turned to look after her for a moment, marvelling at how brave and foolhardy some girls could be, to walk alone in these troubled times; for a brief second he thought of Asano Rin, and his mouth curled in an amused, rueful little smile. He blinked, and realised he had stopped walking, and that Magatsu had caught him up. The younger _kenshi_ had been giving him a look, somehow sharp for Magatsu, and then had stopped and stared at the girl as she trotted out of sight, his tanned cheeks glowing pink, though Anotsu couldn't tell whether it was from exertion or something else.

“Magatsu.” He'd had to say his name twice before the other man noticed, and by that time Anotsu was walking away, irritated at the hold up and at his friend's lack of focus. When Magatsu caught him again, the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader had scowled and hit him lightly on the chest.

“How about you keep your mind on the road, Magatsu?” Anotsu had scolded, teasing, as was their way, but half annoyed. “If you're as horny as all that you can just go out in disguise tonight and bang some _yotaka_ ; but we've got a long way to go yet.”

Magatsu's lips had thinned at that; he hadn't replied, though he flushed red again. They had continued and Anotsu had soon forgotten the whole incident, although now he thinks about it the younger man had been uncharacteristically quiet all that afternoon.

The sun wasn't close to setting when they stopped, but they had found a useful hollow where a fire would go unnoticed, and Magatsu was complaining that his stomach was eating itself. Anotsu had let the younger man boil water and some kind of barley-based concoction infused with woodland plants.

“Eat, _danna_ ,” Magatsu had said, holding out the bowl.

And that was all. Until the moment he had woken up, everything was a blank void.

Anotsu blinks. He is not stupid; he knows, in fact, that he is one of the most intelligent people of his acquaintance, but he is really struggling with this one.

“Is there something you need to explain to me?” he asks Magatsu quietly. The other man has kept silent, patiently waiting for him to finish his flashback. Now Magatsu, who is at this moment somewhat pale beneath his dark skin, leans forward.

“I think you should know, _danna_ ,” he begins, without the frequent nagging-wife-like inflection on the title that no-one uses for Anotsu but him, “that I'm not gonna change because of this. I'm loyal to you for the rest of my life: whatever you want me to be, whatever you want me to do, you just got to ask.”

Anotsu furrows his eyebrows at this. Magatsu is not usually given to vocal demonstrations of loyalty; he only gives them when he feels he needs to, and then in an embarrassed grumble. This sounds...different.

“Magatsu,” the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader says in a low voice, a strange pang of foreboding infiltrating his perplexity, “...did you do this to me?” The younger man looks away, and Anotsu has his answer. He can't think what to say. He feels that he ought to be giving his follower a sharp dressing-down at this moment, but the situation is too strange: Magatsu tends to be impulsive, he knows this, but not to the point of hurting him; and his bound limbs are in _pain_.

His pale face immediately shuts down into the beautiful, so frequently deadly mask that he can raise at will to hide his thoughts, his fear. He uses it quite often, but has only had to do it with Magatsu once: the day he made his mistake, when he agreed to side with the _Bakufu_ and when, inevitably, Magatsu left him. He had been more hurt by that than he liked to let on, though of course Magatsu had turned out to be right, and more glad to see him again in Kaga, although being on his last legs and bleeding at the time had made the need to conceal his feelings somewhat superfluous. He regrets having to use it now, but something like this has never happened before.

He searches for a probing question, and can only think of the most simple.

“ _Why?_ ” he demands. Magatsu looks back at him, and Anotsu senses he won't be getting a satisfactory answer in a few words: the man's unmasked face, usually so open and amiable, is a complex map of concealed emotion, the kind Anotsu has never been any good at reading.

“I want to know!” he presses, a threatened little snarl suddenly tugging at the corners of his delicate mouth. He doesn't know where it came from, but he doesn't ignore his own intuition. This is not going to be simple, or safe.

“Then let me beg another question,” Anotsu continues acidly, glancing down quickly at his white skin with its intersections of dark rope. “ _Why_ am I naked?”

Magatsu shrugs ambivalently, and the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader feels his smooth cheeks flush with anger.

“If it's intended to make me feel stupid, it won't work,” he states flatly, though he is generally an unusually private person when it comes to his own body.

“Stupid!” Magatsu exclaims, and shakes his head. “There's somethin' I need to talk to you about, is all.”

“And...you can only do it like this,” Anotsu states, sarcasm rising, though it's hardly appropriate at this point. Magatsu, to his surprise, nods briefly, and stands up. The kneeling man notices that his unconventional sword is still hanging comfortably from his _obi_ , which means that Magatsu is not feeling very safe at this moment, either. The young _kenshi_ takes a deep breath, almost meditative, steeling himself for a difficult confrontation; as if stripping and tying up his master wasn't difficult enough.

Anotsu, watching him warily, sees a layer of unhappiness, covered by what looks like resignation, and other, more complicated things moving beneath Magatsu's expression. He suddenly strides forward, and Anotsu flinches intuitively; but his friend passes right by without touching him, circling behind him, as though he can't talk while his master's eyes are on him.

“Are you listening, _danna_?” asks Magatsu, out of sight. Not being able to see his face means that Anotsu's strained attention is now on his voice, and the sound of that voice sends a ripple of unease up his spine: it's as though it's coming from far away, not physically, but in its tone; Magatsu sounds detached, as if he is deliberately distancing himself from something that must be done, but that he doesn't want to get too close to. And Anotsu knows with complete certainty that whatever is going to be done will be done to _him_. The nerves on his back fire up, waiting for contact; he can almost sense where Magatsu is by the air alone. Silence draws out for a horribly long time before he hears another soft step.

“I'm quite proud of this one, actually,” Magatsu confides detachedly; Anotsu can feel the young man's dark eyes roving over his back. “Looks kinda artistic.”

“I wouldn't know,” replies Anotsu witheringly, quite willing now to put off whatever Magatsu has to say, because he can tell it will bring more discomfort. “Who taught you these knots?”

“Baro,” comes the studiedly casual voice again, and Anotsu grimaces to himself. They would be good. Another step, closer, and the fine hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Don't you touch me, Magatsu Taito, unless you're planning to untie me,” Anotsu snaps. Somewhat to his surprise the other man doesn't, but he can feel the uneven tremors in the air as Magatsu kneels down behind him, ripples of misery running from the young _kenshi_ to his own skin.

“Once we've had this discussion,” Magatsu tells him, still in that calm, distant voice. Anotsu wriggles impatiently, but the knots are intricate and tight and the movement does nothing but chafe his fair skin.

“Don't you think this has gone far enough?”

“Nah.” Magatsu sounds rueful now, as if he might be regretting it, though not enough to actually stop. “It's gone _too_ far already. That's why I gotta finish it.”

“If you've got some problem with what we've been doing,” Anotsu sighs, “we could have talked about it while we were walking.”

“It's not that,” the voice behind him states. “You know I'd follow you anywhere.”

“Then what?!” Anotsu exclaims, more than irritated now; he _knows_ Magatsu understands their priorities, has always appreciated that he never has to justify himself or his plans. “What else is there? This is _it_ , Magatsu, this is all that matters: us against the _Bakufu_. Is that the problem?” he continues, slightly mollified. “That I don't see a future any more?” He turns his head and tries to see his follower, seeking confirmation from his expression; but Magatsu is invisible, in his blind spot. “There's no way out of this for us now,” Anotsu apologises coolly, thoughts drifting off to Mito and Kagimura.

“Oh, tell it to someone who doesn't know!” cuts in Magatsu, losing the cold edge to his voice and replacing it with an aggrieved one that Anotsu finds even more troubling because as a rule he tries to have nothing to do with passion. Before he can answer such a specious exclamation, however, he feels a sharp pressure on his bound arms that makes him cry out softly in pain and surprise: Magatsu has grabbed the ropes and is dragging them backwards, forcing his arms away from his body the wrong way until his joints protest. It lasts only a second before the youth lets him go, but is enough to shake his composure, which he has so carefully clung to and distilled since waking up and realising what has happened to him.

“I _know_ you, _danna_ ,” Magatsu says hotly, getting to his feet and stalking back to face him again, breathing hard through his nose as though the contact with his master has thrown him. “I know what's important to you better than anyone else!”

“Then why -”

“I know what you _feel_ ,” he continues, ignoring Anotsu's exasperated interjection, “as far as you have any damn feelings at all.”

“Excuse me,” Anotsu cuts in coldly, wondering if he's hearing right, “are you saying Magatsu Taito tied me up here and is wasting hours of our time so he can talk about _feelings_?”

Magatsu curls his lip at the blank expression on that cool face and speaks up spitefully.  
“Why not? If you have any limits, _danna_ , it's that you don't have a _clue_ what people are feeling, and even if you did, you wouldn't think it was important! And one day that's gonna get you into a worse mess than the one you're in now!”

“I know people have feelings,” says Anotsu quietly, trying to work out where his _kenshi_ is going with this, not understanding the volatile compound of anger and frustration on the flushed unmasked face.

“Do you!” Magatsu exclaims loudly, in a way that is pushing sarcastic, in Anotsu's opinion. He begins to walk, pacing an irregular, distracted line back and forth in front of the kneeling man. “So, the people whose lives you weigh on, you understand them, you appreciate them? The Asano girl, a damn _samurai_ , but the woman knows how to feel, I’ll give her that! And that poor idiot you married as a bargain, I never even met her but I'll bet I know more about what she felt than _you_.”

Anotsu watches his friend pace and furrows his slender brows, reaching for some point of connection where he might have a flash of insight or understanding; it seems to him that Magatsu is rambling.

“Or Makie,” Magatsu continues with a peculiar grimace that Anotsu has noticed on his face before when he talks about the swordswoman but has never known how to interpret, and still doesn't. “Have you ever -”

“ _Don't_ talk to me about my cousin,” Anotsu interrupts, on firmer ground here. “I know what she feels.”

“Only because she keeps throwing it in your face!” replies Magatsu instantly, almost shouting. “And even then, what have you done about it?” His demand has a strange, almost accusing inflection.

“Done?” Anotsu repeats. The other man's patchy tread is beginning to grate on his nerves. “I haven't done anything. What would I do it for?”

Magatsu makes a despairing little noise, almost a laugh, and stops his incessant pacing.

“Then what about me?” he asks quietly. “Have you ever thought that I feel things, as well as her?”

“No,” says Anotsu neutrally, truthfully.

“No, you wouldn't,” Magatsu murmurs reflectively, two patches of sharp red on his high cheekbones, volume rising as he continues to speak. “Why is it? Because I'm a guy, because I'm young, because I never talk about it, I just follow you, so what I feel means less than _nothing_!”

Anotsu is silent; those words are barbed, worse than the pain in his constricted limbs, but the significance of it is still escaping him; he gropes desperately for it, aware that something in his lack of understanding is tearing his friend apart.

“You know why I wear this mask?” Magatsu suddenly asks, apropos of nothing, apparently, tugging at the black cloth that usually covers his face. Anotsu shrugs, then winces at the sharp pins of pain that ripple across his shoulders.

“It's because people say I give myself away too easily,” Magatsu explains. “That my face can't hide what needs to be hidden. Look at me, _danna_ ,” he orders, stepping closer. Anotsu stares into the familiar face, the earnest, furious black eyes and the ambiguous flush under tanned skin.

“Do you even see me?” The demand, almost a plea, makes Anotsu narrow his eyes further in perplexity. Of course he does, but _what_ he's supposed to be seeing is a mystery. And he's getting tired of this game. He sighs.

“You can stop, Magatsu. I already _know_ what you feel,” he lies smoothly, hoping it's the right thing to say, to pacify the younger man and bring an end to this.

Magatsu stiffens, his expression freezing, and the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader experiences a warning dart of approaching danger, something he _is_ very good at discerning.

“...You knew?” asks Magatsu, very softly, the colour leaving his face, and suddenly Anotsu feels, for the first time, hazardously out of his depth. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even nod, but somehow Magatsu takes this as an affirmative anyway. In an instant, during which Anotsu remembers just how quick his friend is, with a click the slim second blade of his sword is out and pointed unwaveringly at his master's throat.

Anotsu swallows, very carefully. His eyes travel from the tip of the steel, over Magatsu's white-knuckled hand, up his body until they reach his face, where they see pure, unadulterated hurt. He doesn't know what to do with that, so he puts it aside as he always does, and finds himself in familiar territory; a man pointing a sword at him is nothing he hasn't faced a thousand times before, and obscurely he feels safer. He glares up steadily.

“ _Danna_...” Magatsu abruptly drops to his knees in front of Anotsu, blade still raised, and the bound man's composure is jolted once more: now that they are in close proximity Magatsu's hand is no longer steady; the slim sword moves towards his chest, trembling so that it occasionally brushes his skin. Anotsu finds himself holding his breath, eyes fixed on the tip of the weapon, bright steel that has hitherto only existed to protect him. As it touches his ribcage he gasps, the sudden rush of oxygen and adrenaline giddying him; when he blinks and looks up, he sees that Magatsu's dark eyes are damp, something quite unprecedented in Anotsu's experience.

As if he doesn't want it to be seen, Magatsu leans in closer; he's a good deal taller than Anotsu, who loses sight of him as his jaw presses against Anotsu's pale temple. His breath is coming in shudders, stirring his master's long hair, and with an awful thrill of shock the smaller man gets an inkling of what is inside his follower's heart, though he can't quite bring himself to believe what he's thinking.

Anotsu badly wants to lean away at this point, because if he's right, which he isn't at all sure about, then all the rational explanation and cold calculation in the world will not be enough to calm the trembling young man who is close enough to embrace him. He hears the hitch in his own breath, and knows that he ought to say something, because while Magatsu _can_ be cool and deadly at the same time, he's not exactly known for his restraint.

“Taito...” he whispers, and is displeased by the waver in his own voice, and the distress. But for Magatsu the reaction is even stronger: he hisses in a breath and flinches at the sound of his real name, and in that moment of discomposure Anotsu feels the blade score an unintentional line of light, piercing pain down the side of his flat stomach. He bites his lip, holding in what might be a curse but feels dangerously to him like a sob.

“Shit!” Magatsu jerks away, staring wide-eyed at the thin trickle of red on his master's pale flesh; it has only just broken the skin, and anyone could see it was slight, but the sight is enough for him to fling the sword aside convulsively, adding a note of dismay to his already crowded expression. He stares down at his own hand as if it didn't belong to him, chest heaving.

Anotsu blocks out the sting with ease, aided by practice and his own consternation, and kneels up straighter, though he still can't get level with the other man's eyes. So Magatsu didn't actually intend to hurt him; normally he would take this as a given, as one of life's basic facts, but for a moment there he wasn't sure. This could go on forever, he senses, if they don't get to the root of it, and he doesn't think his limbs or his head can take it.

“If you could just clarify, Magatsu,” he says, as levelly as he can manage, abandoning all pretence of understanding his follower after all, “what _exactly_ is it you're trying to make me see?”

Magatsu bites his lip, looking very young. He spends a few moments in silence, and Anotsu thinks maybe he's trying to work out how to admit...whatever it is without actually saying it. But the consideration seems only to make him angry again; he gives his master a furious, passionate look and a gesture of futility, grappling with metaphors that are unfamiliar to him.

“You...You're like a...” He waves his hands about, searching for words. “You're like a _koi_ under ice, _danna_ ,” he states bitterly, and now that he has started the accusations flow easily; Anotsu can feel the irate heat of his body and wonders why it burns. “There you are, shining, so fucking _beautiful_ ,” Magatsu spits, “and people try and touch you, but when they do all they get is frostbite because you are so damn _cold_ , and here I am, spending my life protecting that perfect silver skin, that ice...!” He takes a deep breath, jaw clenched, “when all I wanna do is _smash_ it!”

Anotsu twitches as Magatsu smacks a fist into his palm as if to illustrate his desires. Then he looks up stonily at the enraged, almost weeping _kenshi_ , though inside his heart is sinking because he finally begins to understand what it is Magatsu thinks he wants. What can he possibly say, he wonders, that won't hurt him right now?

Gaze still locked on him accusingly, Magatsu reaches out, unable to help himself when his master's face is inches from him, so pale and still and lovely. Anotsu doesn't think that he can stand to be touched at this moment, and speaks up hurriedly before the familiarly callused hand meets his own smooth skin.

“Ok. I understand!” He tries to sound reasonable, and as the words come out of his mouth he knows that he's failed. “I _see you_ , Magatsu Taito.” The other man's face takes on the awful glow of hope rising, and he can't bear to look at it. He continues hurriedly. “But what do you expect me to _do_ about it?”

Magatsu looks as though he hadn't anticipated that one, and pauses, considering all the connotations of what his master could mean. Anotsu sees that he has settled on the most pessimistic interpretation, which was in fact the one that he intended. Magatsu runs a hand through his untameable hair, the same hand that would have touched the older man. He gives a sad little smile that isn't really a smile at all.

“You don't have to do anything, _danna_ ,” he says, and Anotsu feels the skin prickle on the back of his neck. “But _I'm_ going to.”

And without another word his arm slips behind Anotsu's back and he draws the slender man closer, kissing him full on the mouth, deep and soft and sweet, and in that kiss Anotsu wildly reads pain, utter devotion and, to his horror, something like love. As the brief seconds stretch out Anotsu stares wide-eyed and unfocused at Magatsu's ear and the beams of the roof, which are all he can see, and finds himself mortally offended. Isn't it presumption? he wonders bitterly. He has never _asked_ for such a deep attachment, and beneath the fire in his cheeks and Magatsu's hot, uncomfortable kiss, he finds the cold lake of resentment and clings to it.

Magatsu, as if stung by the frozen stillness, abruptly pulls away, and evidently reads all he needs to in the chilly, hateful beauty of Anotsu's face. His expression, clear after that longed-for touch to the point of wonder, contorts bitterly with the realisation and turns ugly, and before Anotsu can even open his mouth Magatsu hits him, an open-handed slap that rocks his head to the side.

“Anotsu, I -” Magatsu begins contritely, but the bound man cuts him off, the slap having done wonders for his perspective, bringing him back to himself after the bewildering racing of his heart even amid his shock.

“Kiss me like that again, Magatsu Taito,” Anotsu warns, in control of himself for the moment and words dripping poison, “and you will find yourself without a tongue.”

Magatsu doesn't look at him now, but turns his head to the side as if weighing something up or having an internal argument with himself. He takes a long, shuddering breath, and when he exhales it's calm and resigned.

“All right, _danna_ ,” he acknowledges, and his voice has taken on that distant tone again that Anotsu heard after he woke and that makes his skin tighten nastily. “I won't kiss you like that.” But his hand rises, slowly; Anotsu wonders if Magatsu will hit him again and supposes he can bear it if it makes him feel better and _stops_ this. The sleeve of Magatsu's black kimono slips back, revealing the tense muscles of his forearm as he fights to keep his hand steady; then his skin meets Anotsu's, and the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader winces in surprise and finds himself baring his teeth as the backs of Magatsu's fingers trail softly over his temple, down his cheek, along his fine jaw. The younger man's breath is catching in his throat, his black eyes full of feeling, as his hand, shaking slightly now, slides down Anotsu's pale, slender neck and along the smooth planes of his chest.

“Magatsu.” Anotsu shudders at the touch, so unwelcome and reverent, and finds he can't speak above a whisper. “Don't...”

Magatsu's eyes meet his for a fraction of a second, and they burn.

“Please don't do this,” he repeats more urgently, a soft exhalation of breath escaping him as his follower's fingers brush over his left nipple, repeating the action at the sound and sending the blood to his face. Magatsu's right arm encircles his back loosely, drawing him forward, and now Anotsu can feel the tremors that rock the young _kenshi_ 's whole frame as his hands move tentatively, worshipfully; when he looks down he sees how dark they are against his own pale skin, and a sharp pang of misery cuts him, mingling with the strange little darts of heat that Magatsu's fingers are sending to his stomach. No, Anotsu does not like this at all.

“I love you, _danna_ ,” is Magatsu's only answer to his plea, speaking simply into his ear as if it hadn't taken a doped meal, thirty feet of rope and several hours to make his master aware of this fact. He holds Anotsu's chin firmly in one hand to stop him turning his head, kissing the smaller man's neck softly, just below his ear; evidently he has taken Anotsu's venomous threat to heart. His other hand is still moving over his master's flesh, along his left hipbone and down to circle his navel with careful fingertips that still shake as if he can't really believe what he's doing.

“Is there anything I can say,” asks Anotsu, finding his voice oddly tremulous and hating it, “...that will make you stop?” He's starting to feel the faint edge of panic, something he remembers vaguely from when he was a child but has not experienced for many years; Magatsu's breath is very warm in his ear, and for a moment the _kenshi_ 's body presses closely against him, heating his bare skin in the same way that his fingers are doing. Anotsu feels sick, though he believes it is directed mostly at himself.

“No, _danna_ ,” Magatsu whispers regretfully, kissing his throat again; the coarse spikes of his black hair tickle Anotsu's chin, and both his long-fingered hands, so skilled with and without a weapon, it seems, slide covetously down his narrow waist and over his belly to touch him more intimately. His mouth moves to Anotsu's shoulder, to the single scar that speaks of his master's mistakes in Kaga.

Anotsu grits his teeth and stifles a whimper as his friend's hands caress him, slipping between his bound legs gingerly. He shuts his eyes against the despised prickle of tears but that only makes the sensations stronger, more appalling, Magatsu's eager fingers, his lips, the brush of his rough hair, the silk of his kimono. He can't remember the last time he was touched like this, or if he ever has been, with such ardor, with such reverence. He has always been in a position to dictate exactly what he wants, but now, with Magatsu paying attention to his voice only in order to determine how most effectively to torment him, he's helpless to ask for anything except the futile _stop_.

After a while he loses all concept of time, his tense, pained muscles having no choice but to relax, and he might have been there forever, nothing existing but his own unfortunate body and Magatsu's. He turns his head away bleakly from his friend's loving touch, but cannot help responding physically to the endless impassioned caresses; Magatsu seems determined to learn every inch of his flesh a hundred times over and Anotsu remembers, through the unwelcome haze of sensation, that the young man always did like to do a job to the letter of thoroughness. For a second he wishes that Magatsu would just fuck him and get it over with, no matter how degrading; surely anything would be better than this slow, agonising pleasure.

He clings to his outrage, at this violation and what Magatsu is needlessly spoiling between them, but that only makes it worse: with his mind locked in the cold box of disbelief, everything seems far away, almost outside, and with a start he notices that he is weeping despite himself. Holding his mind separate like this he can consider things logically, but when he tries to do so he finds himself nauseated, shocked by the sound of his own ragged breathing, the way Magatsu has parted his legs with barely any resistance. No, his body is in a bad way right now, and it needs his mind working with it; for what might be the first time ever, he realises, cold dispassion is not going to work.

When his intellect is fully united with his flesh again it seems even harder: the full force of sensation hits him like a blow and he cries out quietly. Magatsu, whose mouth is trailing scandalously down his breastbone between the ropes, raises his head in surprise. He shoots a wry glance at his captive's horrified, aroused face, at the narrow eyes half closed and smooth white skin flushed; then returns to caressing what he has yearned so long to have. His tongue flicks over a pale nipple, and Anotsu gasps, then makes a little noise of serious distress as Magatsu's fingers reach further between his thighs and part him gently, slipping carefully just inside him. His free hand presses possessively against the smaller man's lower back, preventing him from trying to move away.

“If you don't let me go, _now_ ,” comes Anotsu's voice, finally echoing the feelings of misery and fervour that Magatsu has felt all this time, “I will hate you forever, Magatsu Taito.”

“No you won't,” Magatsu replies after a minute, distant again and distracted as he touches his master more forcefully and Anotsu arches his back involuntarily, pressing up against him with a hiss of discomfort. “Because you've got such a limited capacity for emotion, as I _think_ I already explained to you, right?” He kisses Anotsu's finely made clavicle and bites down lightly on the fair skin, catching the repressed moan before the smaller man speaks again.

“But I...can _hate_ very well,” Anotsu reminds him between uneven breaths, forehead leaning unwillingly against his shoulder as exhaustion and the pain in his arms increase. “Otherwise we would not be here at all, for you to _do_ this to me.” His voice cracks in a low sob.

“True.” Magatsu settles himself more comfortably, kneeling between Anotsu's slim thighs and running a hand soothingly over his back beneath his bound limbs. “As far as feelings go, hate is certainly what you do best.” He kisses his jaw, which clenches under his touch, and he can taste sweat and tears and uncertainty. “But remember, yours is all caught up with the _Bakufu_ already. Now me, I can hate a lot of things, including you, _danna_ , sometimes, and I still got no problem loving you more than anything else I ever laid eyes on. But you...you just haven't got _room_.”

Anotsu cries quietly as Magatsu's fingers press deeper and stroke him faster, and finds the tears a surprisingly pleasant release from many things: from responsibility, from the cold, from the terrible, now impossible pressure of trying to look strong in the face of all this. The younger man, not looking particularly stable himself, murmurs comfortingly to him, words that he doesn't catch at all as Magatsu's mouth moves over his hair, his cheek, his neck. He thinks he might die from the pleasure, or maybe it's from shame, as Magatsu cruelly slows his touches and he has to bite back a whimper of frustration.

“If you loved me, you wouldn't do this,” he mutters hoarsely in a final attempt to stop his besotted _kenshi_ , to stop himself, although in all honesty he has no idea about what love makes people do; but surely this anger, this forced desire isn't right.

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” confesses Magatsu hopelessly, his short thumbnail digging into Anotsu's small nipple and making him squirm, taut stomach slick with sweat, painfully hard in Magatsu's grip. “But I do.”

The young man's cheek is pressed against his, with as much affection as carnal intimacy, and Anotsu dimly realises that he has two choices. He's bound to the point of agony, but he still has a mouth free with two even rows of sharp little white teeth that can maybe inflict enough pain to wake his follower up, turn his desire into plain violence, which Anotsu would take over this in a heartbeat. He can either fight this in earnest, then...or he cannot.

Magatsu squeezes his arousal gently, sending a ripple of heat up his spine, and even as he draws his head back he doesn't know which he will choose. But Magatsu's face, when he catches sight of it, is so earnest, so miserable, so dreamy with adoration that the choice is made for him: by the next beat of his heart his lips have caught Magatsu's, forgetting entirely his former threat at the feeling. He curses himself roundly but finds himself dizzied as his friend gets over his momentary shock and kisses him back with unpractised, uncalculated need, tongue pressing between his lips to taste him. Anotsu feels the upsurge of desire as Magatsu's kiss becomes rougher, thoughtless, and he wonders how this odd act can be accompanied by so much pleasure; maybe it has something to do with the taller man's hands, the mixture of provocation and pain they are currently inciting even as the kiss becomes more intimate.

“Hate away then, _danna_ ,” Magatsu whispers unsteadily as Anotsu's mouth leaves his to take a swift, harsh breath. “If this is your hate, then I think I can bear it.”

Anotsu kisses him again, not skilfully, because the hands between his legs and sliding down his back are too intense.

“...I don't hate you,” he admits, dragging in another gulp of air as Magatsu's lips move to his throat, and pressing up against the younger man to feel the delicious friction on his skin, trying not to think about how he's acting because it makes him feel dirty. “I just hate what you're doing.”

“...Shall I stop?” asks Magatsu suddenly, unexpectedly, removing his hands with an effort but not his mouth, as if he wants to read the answer through the shudder of his master's skin. There is a long pause, then,

“ _Fuck_ you, Magatsu,” Anotsu swears furiously, round face streaked with tears and eyes gleaming with rage. “You could have said that before now, couldn't you?! When I was _begging_ you to let me go!” He snarls at the guilty, zealous expression on his follower's young face. If he had offered those words thirty seconds ago, he might have forgiven him, might have forgotten that his body was burning for this, through no fault of its own. But the imprint of Magatsu's touch, he thinks despairingly, will stain him forever.

“Then stop,” he says quietly, through his rapid breathing. He draws away from that treacherous warmth, feels the cold air on his damp, thrilled flesh. Magatsu is staring at him as though the words have come as a shock, as if this is some kind of betrayal, and Anotsu wants to laugh ironically but wisely doesn't.

“You just kissed me,” accuses Magatsu, face still flushed with desire, “and _now_ you want me to let you go?!”

For a long moment they glare at one another, both disbelieving, both disgusted and breathing unsteadily. Anotsu makes a conscious effort to look non-threatening.

“Please,” he says softly, and the hurt calm of his voice makes the other man swallow hard. “You have to untie me, now.”

“...And then?” asks Magatsu faintly, helplessly. Anotsu doesn't say anything, just stares ahead, and the taller man gives a forlorn laugh that changes halfway into a sob through gritted teeth. Magatsu nods jerkily, but doesn't move for the ropes, and the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ leader finds himself caught up in an embrace so tight he can barely breathe; Magatsu is clinging to him as if they will never see each other again, his arms a perfect incongruity of threat and protection, his face buried in his master's naked shoulder. Anotsu submits easily to being held, wondering why people allow themselves to love if it causes such anguish, until the constricting hug sets his arms buzzing with pain, until it's too much.

“Magatsu.”

With a grimace Magatsu tears himself away, kneeling once more behind his _danna_. Anotsu feels each knot, each coil of rope come undone so slowly that it's almost sensual in itself; or at least it would be if it hadn't turned out that his limbs have in fact been numb, and what he thought was pain was actually a pathetic forerunner to the waves of agony that hit him as the blood flows back to his arms. Teeth gritted, he lets out a low groan but doesn't try to fight it, knowing that will make it worse; he accepts it instead, gets lost in it.

As his balance shifts he realises those overtasked limbs will not support him; but two strong hands catch him before he falls flat on the floor, as they would have done before any of this started. Anotsu fervently wishes it never had, as Magatsu's fingers rub life briskly back into his arms, wishes he could feel the simple reassurance of Magatsu's constant support again, but knows he cannot because the touch of those hands kindles him now instead. He forces compliance on his disobedient limbs and then lets them be still. He doesn't try to stand, although he imagines he could if he brought his considerable will to bear.

“What're you doing?” asks Magatsu from behind him, deep unhappiness mixing with surprise in his voice. Anotsu wriggles his toes and winces, not looking back.

“Trying to work out whether or not to hurt you,” he says coldly. He knows Magatsu would let him, too.

“If you like,” comes the miserable voice, which Anotsu thinks is intensely unjustified, given the circumstances.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he orders dully, “I'm not going to. I just...don't care.”

Magatsu doesn't say anything to that, which is probably sensible. The younger man tugs the edge of the turquoise kimono out from beneath Anotsu's freed legs, and solicitously drapes it over his shoulders, hiding the rope burns that his master inflicted on himself with his struggling. He is biting his lip so hard it bleeds.

Anotsu, for some reason, finds this hypocritically caring act extremely, even hysterically funny, and begins to laugh to himself, narrow shoulders shaking, on and on in a way that has nothing to do with humour, which he has never had much of a sense of anyway. He thinks, as it drags out, that maybe he won't be able to stop, though it sounds ugly to his ears; but over the laughter he hears Magatsu get to his feet; he twists round to see the back of the room for the first time. Magatsu bends to retrieve the sword he had flung away and slides it into its sheath with a gesture of disgust. Anotsu stops laughing. He sees his friend pause, close his eyes for a long moment, then stride towards the low door with a finality that makes Anotsu's breath stop.

“You!” he snaps viciously as Magatsu's hand reaches for the latch. “Where do you think you're going?” He leans forward, narrow, reddened eyes glittering, and Magatsu turns to stare at him, shocked. “I'm not _nearly_ finished with you yet!”

The look Magatsu gives him then is a picture, incredulity, adoration, resentment all combined in one face that isn't designed to feel so much or so deeply. His lips press together until they're white and he remains where he is, looking faintly sick as if he would like nothing better than to run. Anotsu meets his gaze, raising his chin and staring at him with the cool fury of a leader rather than a victim's glance. He wonders how Magatsu will choose, and then why he is proposing such a choice in the first place.

In the end old habits win out: Magatsu's shoulders sag, as though this choice comes with too heavy a burden of guilt; but he returns to his master's side as he has always done eventually, kneeling in front of the pale _kenshi_ with both sincerity and unwillingness.

“All right, _danna_ ,” he says in a low voice, a world of affection and loathing loading the honorific. “You got me. I'm your fucking _dog_ ; I can't leave you. So what do you want?”

The two of them stare at one another bitterly. Anotsu doesn't know what he can possibly do to express it, how Magatsu has damaged them, doesn't know how they can ever have a meeting of minds again, but he can think of something to get the process under way.

“ _This_ is for starters,” he hisses at Magatsu, and hits him, pleased to discover that his arm is working again: his deceptive strength knocks the taller man to the floor, the blow standing for every second he wanted to hurt him that night and couldn't. Magatsu coughs, and spits out blood, looking dazed: he has bitten his tongue. Anotsu rubs his aching knuckles. He feels slightly better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having got over his little spate of angst, Magatsu shows his boss exactly what he's been missing.

Magatsu wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and pushes himself upright. Both men sit for a while, reflectively, a little distance apart, both thinking that to say anything else just now would be an irreparable mistake. Magatsu prods interrogatively at his bruising cheek and winces; Anotsu leans his arms on his raised knees, observing the dark ligature marks that still indent his skin from his biceps to his wrists with a thoughtful, slightly nauseated gaze.

“What would you have done to me?” he asks after a while, not turning his head, cautiously, as if probing a wound. “Fucked me?”

Magatsu makes a face, as though the coarse word in in Anotsu's usually well-spoken mouth offends him as much as the question discomfits him.

“...I dunno,” he says eventually. “I wanted to.”

“And after that?” Anotsu's voice is quite calm; he might almost be talking about someone else, someone wholly unconnected to him. He wonders why he's even asking, wonders if in fact he is gathering weapons to hurt his follower further.

“I don't know, _danna_.” Magatsu fiddles with the hem of his kimono. “I hadn't thought about it. Figured maybe you'd kill me anyway. And...” His jaw tightens with the memory, though whether he is trying to suppress contrition or arousal Anotsu can't tell. “Just now, when I was doing... _that_...Felt like I could do you all night.”

Anotsu takes a sharp hiss of breath, lightheaded.

“ _Why?_ ” he asks again, the same question as when this began, hoping for a less complicated answer this time.

Magatsu turns to look at him, guiltily, and Anotsu reads the same signs of desire, this expression he has never bothered to interpret before, and realises with an affronted shock that the other man still wants him, and that he will read those signs forever in Magatsu's young face.

“You really wanna get into this now?” questions Magatsu suspiciously, uncomfortably. Anotsu supposes he shouldn't; but now that he is no longer tied he knows he has nothing much to fear from his friend, quite secure in his superior combative skill, and Magatsu's discomfort soothes some of his own outrage.

“I want to. And _you_ have to tell me, oh, you _owe_ me, Magatsu Taito, and you will regret it before I'm done with you.” Anotsu knows he is being spiteful, and malicious, and doesn't care. “So why?”

Magatsu runs his eyes over his master, a quick glance to refresh his memory. “You mean apart from the fact that every damn inch of you is perfect? That your face is so fuckin' _beautiful_ it's like looking at God?”

“...Apart from that.” Anotsu turns and stares scathingly at his earnest, resentful follower. “Where on _earth_ did that pile of poetic rubbish spring from?”

“ _You_ wanted to know!” Magatsu blushes indignantly. “How shameful d'you think this is for _me_ , _danna_? This is fucking serious! Ain't like I'm just pulling this stuff out my ass.”

“Very shallow of you, Magatsu.” The young man snorts and Anotsu shakes his head. “That's the same reason every piece of human _trash_ gives when he violates a woman: _she was hot, I wanted her_.” Anotsu looks down at his slender body, pale skin. He has never been entirely comfortable with his own beauty, though his deceptively small form and lovely face have thrown his enemies on a number of occasions, and in general have been more useful than not. He remembers, though, getting some pretty pressing invitations before he grew up and learned how to use his strength and natural reserve as a warning sign to keep away.

“I'm not like that!” growls Magatsu virulently, interrupting his thought.

“...I know. You're a man of _honour_. So explain how you love me enough to do _this_ to me.” Anotsu gestures at himself, naked, bruised, on edge.

“I...” The other man glares up at the ceiling, rubbing his hands against his kimono as if he despises what they've been doing. “Ugh. Where do I _start_? ...Everything. I love every single thing you are. There's plenty of stuff I don't _like_ ,” he qualifies. “Shit, it'd be too creepy if there wasn't, right? I just...love you. There's nothing you could possibly do to make me not.”

Anotsu feels himself tense again, a light flush suffusing his white skin. He has heard confessions of love from Makie, and while they only technically moved him, it was more...appropriate, sounded less disturbing than coming from a man, especially one as blunt and pragmatic and stoically masculine as Magatsu.

“There's only one thing I hate.” Magatsu continues awkwardly, impervious to his master's silence. “And that's when you don't notice me at all. Is it 'cause I'm always there for you? Would you notice me better if I was more like _her_ , wavering back and forth, making you unhappy?” The note of jealousy is plain in his raised voice, and this time Anotsu picks up on it.

“No,” he says unobtrusively. “That's not what I wanted, not from her, not from you. I always wanted you with me, just as you were.”

“Well now's a fine fuckin' time to tell me, isn't it.” Magatsu gives a dolorous sigh.

“Since when have you loved me?” demands Anotsu, the word feeling ungainly on his tongue. “Was it after Kaga? You went all that way to find me.”

Magatsu gives a resigned, tired chuckle. “Shit, you really are as clueless as I thought. It goes back way further than _Kaga_ , _danna_. Hell, I've known I was in love with you since I was fourteen.”

“ _Fourteen?_ ” Over five years. Anotsu shakes his head disbelievingly.

“Yup.”

“You never let on!”

“Oh, _right_.” Magatsu lets out a bark of ironic laughter. “Yeah, a teenage boy, a peasant, fuckin' horny as hell and thinking he's a total jerk for feeling it? He's really gonna tell the leader of the _Itt_ _ō_ _-ry_ _ū_ that he dreams of nailing him to the mattress all night long!”

Anotsu grimaces, a shiver running over his bare legs. “Must you be so -”

“Ahh, sorry, _danna_. Guess that was a little _coarse_ for you.” Magatsu scratches his neck. “Was never just that, anyway. It's like you used to say about Makie – you knew she'd walk ahead of you your whole life. _I_ knew it from the first day, when you beat me down outside your own gate: it had to be _you_. 'Cause I never met anyone else who was _worth_ following, _worth_ loving. But you're worth every damn wound I've taken in your name, Anotsu Kagehisa, and don't think it pleases me to say it right now.” He flings out a hand heatedly as if to illustrate his displeasure. “ _God_ you piss me off!”

At the same moment his gesture widens and his fingers brush Anotsu's right forearm. Magatsu continues to proclaim his disgust at his master's faults vehemently, voice acerbic and bitter, but Anotsu doesn't hear another word. He draws himself close, arms wrapped around his knees, and sits in silence, face very pale and narrow eyes very wide. Every bit of his focus is concentrated on suppressing the violent shakes washing over him, and Magatsu could be talking about the weather, as far as he is concerned. Because that one insignificant touch has re-awoken every feeling this experience has forced upon him, every sensation that Magatsu made him suffer in the name of anger, and to his revulsion the remembrance of it stirs something deep in his belly, waves of irrepressible heat and abhorrent yearning slamming into him. A series of images flashes through his mind, overturning the cool, re-established order: Magatsu kissing him, knees nudging his legs apart, fingers digging bruisingly into his flesh: passionate words and cruel gestures of desire.

Anotsu thinks this might break him, one way or the other; he shoots a fevered glance at Magatsu's hands, tanned, callused, invasive and always there to hold him, and the breath catches in his throat. He screws his eyes shut against the terrible inclination to either hurt the man next to him or to give in and beg him for something he knows he has never wanted.

“Hey.” Magatsu pauses mid-flow, aware that he no longer has an audience. “You feelin' ok?”

Anotsu turns his head away quickly, letting his forelocks fall over his face before his _kenshi_ can see what burns there.

“ _Danna_?” asks the younger man in some concern, leaning forward and trying to peer around Anotsu's knees, acting very wary of the distance between them. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” manages Anotsu quickly, through gritted teeth, the soft voice raising goose-bumps on his arms.

“Don't gimme that,” says Magatsu, displaying his cursed newly-hatched and untimely sensitivity, raising his eyebrows. “I told you I _know_ you, remember?” Quickly, before he can think better of it, he takes Anotsu's forearm and tugs his master around to face him; he sneaks a look at the smaller man's expression and then lets go of him as if he were red hot, leaning backwards to get some space between them as fast as he can. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times before managing to get the words out.

“You _want me_ , don't you?!” Magatsu exclaims, appalled. “What the _fuck_ , _danna_!”

“...Wishful thinking, Magatsu,” whispers Anotsu shakily, the heat welling in his cheeks.

“The hell it is!” Magatsu points an accusing finger at his master, looking angrier than ever. “You're blushing like a fuckin' housewife in heat!”

“Shut up,” mutters Anotsu desperately, furiously. Magatsu backs away further, eyes flashing.

“It's not fair, _danna_!” He sounds scared now. “You...you gotta let me go, _please_ , you got no _idea_...”

“I...” What can he say, Anotsu wonders? He doesn't know what's causing it, is being pressed flat by the weight of the shame that he has never had any care for before now, but he can tell his friend is almost at the end of his rope, and it's really no wonder. Anotsu, with a flash of awful insight, wonders if Magatsu feels like this _all the time_? He thinks back to the thousand occasions the two of them have bathed together, dressed together, slept alongside one another, and doesn't know how Magatsu could have stood it this long, if this piercing desire is anything like what the younger man experiences.

What had he said earlier, when he still had a mind to think with? Anotsu riffles feverishly through the declarations, accusations, pacifications...He had said that they were coming to the end, hadn't he? That he could no longer see the future beyond Habaki Kagimura, and that everything they did was bent on this final war. Anotsu shakes his head despairingly. What the hell does it matter, then, what he feels or doesn't feel, what ramifications this liaison would have beyond their little universe of bloodshed? In dismay it dawns on him that even pride has no meaning here, in this yet more contracted world that contains only the two of them; pride has been one of the linchpins of his existence, a constant code upon which his logic can draw; but in this place, at this time, what significance does it have for Magatsu, or for him?

Anotsu draws a long breath, and holds it, until he thinks time has slowed to a standstill and he can stop thinking, stop feeling. And in these long seconds he sees how simple everything is. He exhales slowly, and finds it is still simple when he opens his eyes. His mouth curls in a tiny smile.

“Magatsu.” He turns to face the angry, trembling youth. “You're really talking up a storm tonight, but enough is enough.” With honour and pride and other ridiculous considerations pinned tight and screaming behind the strange wall of desire, he gives a little shrug and the kimono falls away from his shoulders. “If this is the only way you can be with me now...show me what it means.”

Magatsu stares incredulously at him, making a conspicuous effort not to gaze lasciviously at the neat, flushed little body. He clears his throat, but when he speaks his voice is strained.

“You...gotta be kidding me, right?” He swallows, and his breathing is harsh, painful. “If you are, then you better stop, _danna_ , 'cause I -”

Anotsu leans back on his hands, no longer hiding, allowing Magatsu's guilty stare to ignite him all along his body.

“This is an order now,” he says softly, and the last ten years and the last ten minutes have taught him that Magatsu won't dare refuse. “ _Show me_ how you would love me if you had the chance.”

Magatsu gapes at him for approximately one-tenth of a second, but that is all it takes. The black-clad youth sets his jaw determinedly; he unties his sword from his side, finally, and very deliberately sets it down a little way away, as if to show that he means to do no harm this time. He turns to Anotsu, who is biting his lip, eyes heavy lidded with apprehension and anticipation.

“This is...what you want?” Magatsu asks one more time.

Anotsu nods, slowly, carefully. Magatsu sighs, crawls over to him, and swings one knee over his thighs, straddling his vulnerably naked body. He kneels like that, gazing down at his master, not touching him, though Anotsu can feel his warmth and waits for him to make another move, to ease this frustration before one of them snaps. Magatsu, however, keeps his fists resting on his own knees, disciplining himself with a visible effort, letting the tension that pulses between them ripen.

“What are you just sitting there for?” demands Anotsu eventually, every part of him alive to the possibility of Magatsu's touch. He raises his chin so that he is speaking not far from Magatsu's lips, and hears an answering inhalation of breath, but doesn't think he can be the one to initiate this even after demanding it.

“Show a little fortitude,” whispers Magatsu, shifting his weight forward and allowing the rough silk of his kimono to brush against Anotsu's torso, eliciting a sigh from the smaller man. “I waited _years_ to have you. I ain't gonna screw it up this time. You want to know how I'd love you?” He bends to murmur into his master's ear, his lips tickling the sensitive edge of it. “ _All fucking night_.” But Anotsu's gasp of arousal will not allow him to delay much more, not when by turning his head just a little he can catch the corner of that delicate mouth, skin barely meeting skin before he moves away. Anotsu inclines his head towards him, gazes up at him demandingly, angling for something more, and at last Magatsu gives in; he holds back as much as he dares, kissing the older man carefully, lightly, until Anotsu's pelvis rocks up against his and he can no longer do it: he grabs his leader's beautiful face in both hands and kisses him passionately.

Anotsu feels it, the exact moment when love becomes recognisable over lustfulness in that kiss, and leans up, pressing their mouths together harder, tasting iron, parting his legs a little to feel Magatsu's thighs against his own. His arms slip around Magatsu's strong back without him telling them to do any such thing, and for the first time experiences what it is like to hold him.

“Touch me!” he orders when Magatsu gasps for breath, wanting to feel those hands move over him again, this time with his consent, though he can't imagine how it could feel any more pleasurable.

“ _Slow down_ ,” cautions Magatsu, shooting him a breathless half-smile. “ _I'm_ s'posed to be the one with no endurance.”

Anotsu gives a little low growl in the back of his throat, not particularly used to waiting for gratification, and Magatsu laughs, pushing him down onto his back, the smooth, pale blue of his kimono beneath him. The taller man adjusts himself so he can lean over his slender master without crushing him, and settles between Anotsu's slim legs.

“Now just...take it easy,” he says, letting his lips run lightly along the line of Anotsu's fine jaw. Raising himself on one elbow he trails his left hand slowly over the familiar, girlish face below him, memorising what each smooth contour feels like beneath his fingers; his thumb brushes over Anotsu's lower lip musingly, and the man's heart begins to slow under the tender, unhurried caress. Anotsu's left hand rises to gently grip the finer hair on the back of his neck, clever fingers dipping beneath the black cloth garment he wears under his kimono with a touch that seems more intimate than anything he has done before.

Dreamily, still half frustrated but more temperate, Anotsu darts out his pink tongue to touch Magatsu's thumb softly, not expecting the shiver that passes to him from the other man; he raises a lazy eyebrow and licks it again, angling his head a little so that the tip of the digit slips between his lips, and bites down gently. With a thrill of uneasy gratification he feels a hardness pressing against his thigh; Magatsu is blushing like a furnace. Anotsu is amazed for a moment that the smallest caress from him can cause such a swift reaction, and a corner of his mouth crooks up in a smile.

“It feels damn _good_ , _danna_ ,” Magatsu explains in a reprimanding tone, backing off a little as Anotsu shifts his narrow hips teasingly against his erection. The older man still looks amused, so Magatsu demonstrates pointedly by grabbing his master's wrist and drawing it down, pressing a kiss to the palm of the small hand before entwining their fingers together firmly. Anotsu has as many calluses as he does himself from the weapons he wields, but the shape of his fingers is different, slender and sensitive, a musician's hand more than a warrior's; Magatsu kisses them one by one, feeling the ridge of each knuckle as he draws the index finger into his mouth. The speed of Anotsu's breathing has increased, rapid and shallow, and Magatsu smirks.

“Told ya,” he murmurs throatily, pinning his master's hand to the floor beside his head and kissing his mouth again, deep and slow, Anotsu's tightly strung body relaxing once more under the leisurely pace. Magatsu nudges the soft lips apart, allowing his tongue to brush slowly against the smaller man's until Anotsu shuts his eyes and returns it with a nonchalant skill that makes the younger _kenshi_ jealous to know just who he learned it from.

To Anotsu the kissing seems to last an hour, the frantic eagerness of before fading to a gentle simmer in the background that rises and falls depending on where Magatsu decides to put his hands; for the moment they are resting comfortably against his shoulder blades, protecting him from the hard floor, encircling him loosely. Anotsu has hooked one arm around Magatsu's neck, not exactly holding him down but preventing him from effectively ending the kiss; he likes this, he has decided, and is quite surprised at himself: lingering dalliance being something he has always considered a waste of time and, often, money. But this...Maybe it's Magatsu's warm weight over him, he thinks languidly, trapping him between two layers of silk, the lightly muscled body pressing him down, suggestive and protective simultaneously. No woman Anotsu has ever been with has provided such an experience.

“Hey, _danna_ ,” Magatsu is saying softly, now nuzzling his neck gently, his mouth closing over the white skin to leave marks that Anotsu would normally be displeased about, although at the moment he no longer cares. “Can I take your hair down? It's real pretty.”

Anotsu makes a little noise of assent, not exactly sure what his friend is going to get out of it; his hair is his hair, but he raises his head when prompted anyway. Magatsu fiddles with the leather tie, then pulls it away in one smooth motion, eyeing the cool brown fall of poker-straight hair with appreciation. He runs his fingers through it, lifting a smooth handful of tresses and catching their scent. Anotsu sighs comfortably; it feels nice, nothing spine-tingling, just an added frisson of sensation, though Magatsu seems to be enjoying it a lot more, if his hard-on is anything to go by.

“Always loved your hair,” the young man explains unabashedly. “Always wanted to touch it. 'Specially down at Edo Castle, you were a fuckin' work of art then, all that hair flowing, blood flying...” He grins at the memory and aims a sharp, affectionate nip at Anotsu's ear.

“No wonder you were so worn out,” Anotsu replies, frowning in disapproval and stroking the back of Magatsu's neck until the coarse hair spikes up even more than it is wont to do. “If you had to worry about killing people _and_ being a wretched filthy pervert.”

“Sticks and stones, _danna_ ,” says Magatsu happily. “I don't see you complaining.”

Anotsu narrows his eyes, wondering if Magatsu has forgotten just how much he had been complaining a short hour before, and how much cause he had for complaint. He tugs Magatsu's head down and kisses him roughly, biting down on his follower's lower lip, enough for it to hurt a little, and then running his canines cruelly over the exploratory tongue. To his astonishment Magatsu yelps and jerks away; Anotsu gets a faint aftertaste of blood, and stares at the younger man blankly.

“I bit my tongue, remember?” explains Magatsu with some chagrin, touching it tentatively with one finger and wincing. “When you socked me in the face.” Anotsu smiles a cruel little smile of satisfaction. “Don't look so damn pleased,” Magatsu continues, scowling at his master and running both hands possessively over his hips. “You gotta take better care of this tongue, _danna_ , considering what it's gonna do for you.”

Anotsu sucks in a breath at the suggestive comment and the smouldering look in Magatsu's black eyes. Arousal hits him again, deep in his gut and more urgent than before, though Magatsu does not seem about to give him any concrete examples imminently but rather returns to playing with his hair, mouth dropping light kisses onto his shoulders and the hollow of his throat. Anotsu raises his left leg to press harder against the other man's hip and runs one hand swiftly over his chest, down past his _obi_ to teasingly stroke the most insistent sign of Magatsu's excitement through cloth.

Magatsu gives a little groan, half way between irritation and pleasure, his face buried in Anotsu's neck.

“Don't, _danna_ ,” he warns huskily, trapping Anotsu's hand and moving it back up his body to rest against his muscled stomach. “Else we ain't gonna be here five minutes, and that's not much of a first impression, is it?”

“Then...do something for me.” Anotsu's expression forbids any idea of begging, but the tone of his voice makes it very clear. He tugs at the white collar of Magatsu's kimono.

“Damn, you're hot.” Magatsu kisses him again, clumsily, as if he has a very precarious hold on his patience, then shrugs out of his kimono so that it falls away to his waist, the thin black undergarment clinging to his wiry, muscled torso. He repeats the path of his previous kisses, over Anotsu's neck, his shoulders, down his slim chest, nibbling at the pale skin to the soft rise and fall of his master's breathing, reaching between his legs to inflict occasional taunting caresses on the smaller man's growing arousal. Anotsu's hands rub across the back of his shoulders distractedly, grabbing a handful of cloth as Magatsu's teeth bite down lightly on his nipple, hand pressing against his arching back to push him into the sensation; the young _kenshi_ grins at the sound of pleasure coming through gritted teeth, and laps tenderly at the reddened flesh, eliciting a string of stifled gasps.

Anotsu wonders dimly what in the world is taking so long, what satisfaction Magatsu can possibly be getting from restraining himself in this way that is so out of character for his impetuous young follower. Magatsu is inching slowly down his body to the flat planes of his stomach, strong hands clamped on his hips and holding him down. Raising his head momentarily to look down at him, Anotsu sees a pattern of red marks glowing on his own torso like brands, and scowls half-heartedly; but Magatsu's open face is so bright with pure, sweet enjoyment that he can't bring himself to reprimand him, and probably couldn't find the words if he tried.

“Not long to wait,” comes Magatsu's amused voice in a tone of anticipation, muffled as he tastes the flesh of Anotsu's quivering stomach, salt with slick sweat. “I'll let ya have fun in a minute.” He runs his hands lingeringly down his master's slim legs, fingernails light and teasing on the back of his thighs; Anotsu obediently bends his knees upwards, letting the younger man rub his face against his smooth calf affectionately, spiky hair tickling him as Magatsu's mouth begins to kiss along the top of his right thigh.

“Why not... _now_?” Anotsu manages, inclining his leg towards Magatsu's torso to try and direct him towards his neglected hard-on. Magatsu laughs, warm breath tormenting him, but refuses to comply, returning to press his mouth to the crook of Anotsu's white knee.

This is ridiculous, thinks Anotsu hazily, almost ready to reach down and sort it out for himself if his friend doesn't speed it up. He has never been made to wait so long, and finds it almost painful; he wonders if Magatsu is getting a kick out of this; he feels as much controlled as when he was bound hand and foot, but believes it would be too humiliating to demand something he should have the fortitude to go without. He suffers instead, floating on rough waves of frustrated desire.

A gentle slap to the inside of his leg brings him back to himself, and he glares down at his _kenshi_ , who is gazing up as if everything he ever prayed for has just landed on him.

“Ok, _danna_ ,” says Magatsu softly, cheek against his inner thigh. “Quit drifting off, and I'll give you what you want.” And without waiting for a reply he leans forward, licking the length of the smaller man's erection with a slow sweep of his tongue, hearing the stifled groan and feeling Anotsu's slender leg tense against his side.

Anotsu's vision goes white for a moment and he has to fight to stop himself crying aloud. He struggles for some semblance of speech before it is too late.

“Have you done...this before?” he enquires breathlessly, unsure how this is going to be.

“Hell no.” Magatsu flicks the tip of his tongue over the head of Anotsu's cock experimentally, gauging the sound of his whimper. “Ya think I'm some fuckin' _samurai_ boy?” He wraps one arm around Anotsu's bent leg to stop the older man moving. “I'd rather die before I did this to anyone but you, _danna_. But you're a guy, I'm a guy...I reckon I know what works.”

Without waiting for another word he frowns in concentration, inhales deeply and takes his master into his mouth. Anotsu's hands come down immediately to tangle in the long spikes of his hair, clutching viciously, and Magatsu lets out a muffled growl of annoyance, not that his leader is going to pay any attention at this juncture. Anotsu hisses as the younger man closes his lips around the head of his hard-on, engulfing him in almost unbearable warmth, probing around it with his tongue in an exploratory manner until he finds a spot that makes Anotsu yank sharply on his hair.

“ _Ahh_...!” Anotsu, barely capable of thinking, jerks his hips upwards involuntarily despite Magatsu's restraining arm, trying for more. Magatsu coughs, pulling back for a moment, then makes a philosophical face and dives in again, taking more of the shaft into his mouth and beginning to move in long, gentle strokes. This time Anotsu's heel kicks him hard in the back of the shoulder.

“Goddammit, _danna_ ,” he complains, lifting his head and glowering impatiently at the smaller man, who is looking utterly aghast at the interruption. “Will ya keep still already!”

“I...am trying.” Anotsu's head falls back against the floor with a thud. “But it feels good...”

“Should be,” grumbles Magatsu, who is apparently finding the act a lot harder than he had imagined it looked. “I spent a _long_ time imagining how I'd do you if I ever...” He readjusts his arm to a firmer grip and sets his free hand on Anotsu's stomach, holding him down pre-emptively; he takes another preparatory breath and tries again.

This time is more successful, almost exponentially so. Anotsu makes a sincere effort not to damage the man creating the most intense sensations he has ever felt in anyone's bed, forcing his hands to his sides and gripping the pale silk of his cushioning kimono convulsively; Magatsu takes him deeper, hands tense on his master's body, doing his utmost to stifle his gag reflex at the unfamiliar feeling. After a while he grows accustomed to the invasive sensation and begins to find a rhythm, listening closely to the various moans of the smaller man, feeling the shudders that cause his muscles to vibrate, and quickening or slowing his movements in answer. Magatsu is astute, and finds out quickly what actions of his lips or his tongue will drive his master to distraction. He makes a thoughtful little noise in the back of his throat, and to his surprise the subtle vibration makes Anotsu cry out in earnest.

Perhaps Magatsu thinks that this is getting too far too fast, because he pauses, and Anotsu, who is so close to the edge that he could fall with a single step, gives a tearful groan of disbelief. Magatsu looks up at him, wrapping his right hand around the base of his erection possessively, panting, and lets a singularly wicked grin suffuse his spare features.

“Don't you _dare stop_ ,” orders Anotsu in a weak, furious voice.

“You taste fuckin' sweet,” states Magatsu predatorily, hungrily, “now you've had the chill taken off...”

Anotsu feels giddy with pure and selfish lust. He thinks this may be the filthiest thing anyone has ever said to him, and turns his head away so his follower cannot see the mindless, shameless, overwhelming desire that must surely show even in his face.

Magatsu takes pity on him and begins again, taking a gamble and letting the older man's leg free so that he can run his left hand greedily over the damp white skin. For Anotsu, the combination of his friend's mouth and fingers creates an airless vacuum of ecstasy in which Magatsu might as well be the only thing that exists, his tongue immobilising his master far more effectively than his constraining arms had. Magatsu confidently increases the pace and Anotsu's toes curl with the immanence of release; he prays to whatever is listening that the younger man won't leave him hanging again, doesn't think he could bear it, and for once is not disappointed as Magatsu takes him completely into his mouth. His hands come down to grip the black hair once again, though now they are trembling, with no strength to hurt the other man even if he wanted to. Anotsu feels Magatsu's injured tongue press insistently against the underside of his shaft and realises this is it, and then loses all thought in the perilously delicious pleasure of his climax.

Magatsu hears his master's moans abruptly cease and go silent, because there is no noise Anotsu can make that is remotely sufficient to expressing it. The young _kenshi_ 's eyes open wide as the muscles beneath the pale skin tense convulsively, then relax, and his throat is filled with hot liquid; it takes all his concentration not to pull back, to wait until Anotsu becomes loose and languid in his grip before he slowly draws his mouth away.

Anotsu opens his eyes halfway, sees Magatsu push himself up on his elbows, coughing and wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar taste, chest heaving but wearing an expression of incorrigible smugness and self-satisfaction.

“You ok, _danna_?” he asks, looking surprised for a moment at his own hoarse voice, crawling up Anotsu's body to get a look at his beautiful face before the ecstatic expression completely fades.

“I...” Anotsu doesn't know, for the moment, whether he is or not. He is sated, and the terrible, shameful physical need that led him to this has been satisfied; now the cold air raises shivers on his damp skin. He doesn't know how to feel, has no precedent for this, and the chilly logic that is his habit raises its cool head for a moment, feeding him unwelcome thoughts of self-loathing.

“Ahh, quit thinking for five seconds,” comes Magatsu's soft voice, and then his arms are around Anotsu, nudging him over so his back is cradled against his follower's black-clad chest, and Anotsu feels it again but far less violently, the gentle throb of comfort, of warm pleasure, and the cold has no place to enter in. Magatsu pushes the long hair away from his face, slowly nuzzling the back of his neck, taking in the scent of him luxuriously, his hands running happily, absently over his sensitised flesh. Anotsu gives in to it: while Magatsu is holding him like this, he can't even consider anything else, and instead reflects drowsily on the fingers pushing through his hair, the warm breath on his cheek, the silk-clad thigh between his knees.

“That was awesome,” remarks Magatsu, still sounding complacent but not at all worn out. “Was I good?”

“I'm not going to lie here and stoke your ego, Magatsu Taito.” Anotsu stretches lazily, the ever-present hands not letting him rest or drift away. “But...” He turns his head and kisses the taller man lingeringly, catching the odd taste of himself on his lips. “You were ok.”

“Huh!” Magatsu's fingers slip lower, to the back of Anotsu's legs, rubbing small, light circles that don't seem much calculated to soothe him. “Guess that's high praise coming from you.”

“How's your tongue?” asks Anotsu drily. Magatsu licks his ear teasingly.

“Sore. But seeing your face like that was worth it.” He bites the nape of Anotsu's slender neck gently. “And if you wanna make it up to me...”

“Already?!” Anotsu sighs incredulously; Magatsu pulls him closer pointedly, and he feels the hard length of his friend's arousal against his hip. “Ah.” He endures a little ripple of apprehension and rising desire at that, though his tired body protests. “Just...give me a while, can you?”

“I guess.” Magatsu gives him a long-suffering look, not stilling his hands but continuing to tease his master, hoping to inflame him once more. “I waited five years already without a word. I can wait another half hour.” He leans forward and kisses Anotsu passionately. “I love you _so damn much_ , _danna_.”

  
  


Anotsu submits to his caresses, lying in the half-dark as Magatsu's own heat makes him begin to burn again. At first the touches to his already satiated body cause an ache, not entirely pleasant, even the gentlest strokes almost too intent and forceful on his skin. He is young, however, and after a while Magatsu's persistence stirs him back to life, a deeper, slower arousal than the desperation he had felt before. Magatsu sits up, turning Anotsu's pliant body to face him and drawing him between his legs, his own tanned face flushed with high colour.

“Undress me,” he says gutturally, black eyes not leaving the small body that kneels so close to him, a perfectly formed combination of softness and light muscle that he has never allowed himself to watch openly before.

“Undress yourself!” retorts Anotsu, squirming slightly under the intent stare. “I'm not your maid.”

“C'mon,” urges Magatsu, his hands running slowly, lustfully up his master's hips. “I want you touching me. Haven't you ever undressed a woman before?”

“No.” Anotsu looks blank. “What for?”

“Because...she might have liked it? It'd be real sexy if it was _you_ doing it.”

Anotsu raises an eyebrow; his own amorous transactions have never been of that nature, not even with Makie, not reaching that level of comfortable intimacy, though he has never had any complaints.

“Well if she wanted it, she could ask me, couldn't she?”

Magatsu shakes his head fondly, wistfully. “No offence, _danna_ , but you ain't exactly the most approachable guy. Besides, _I'm_ asking you.” He slides a hand beneath Anotsu's long, straight hair and draws him in, kissing him protractedly, appealingly.

Anotsu's scalp tingles. Without breaking the languorous contact he draws his hands inch by inch down Magatsu's back, feeling muscle shift beneath the thin cloth, until they reach the black _obi_. Magatsu wears it unusually high and wide, and uses quite a complicated knot to keep all the fabric in place. Anotsu fiddles with it blind for a minute, then gives up, kissing his way along Magatsu's jaw and down the side of his neck, pushing back the coarse hair with his temple, until he can see down his back and work out how to untie the knot. The rough, heavy silk eventually comes loose in his hands, and he begins to unwind it slowly, his fingers brushing Magatsu's stomach and spine, lower and lower, making the younger man shiver at the unintentional touches.

Anotsu throws it aside and turns his attention to the short-sleeved, clinging garment that covers Magatsu's upper body and that the _kenshi_ uses to form his mask. Before he can do anything about it Magatsu engages him in another libidinous kiss, as if having his master do this fires his arousal to a curious degree; fingers pinch goadingly at Anotsu's tender skin, over his ribcage where Magatsu's mouth has left marks, his small nipples that cause darts of sweet pain and make him whimper into the kiss.

Forcing himself back on track, Anotsu dips his fingers beneath the kimono that still loosely wraps Magatsu's waist, locating the hem of the black garment, resting his hand for a moment against the younger man's taut stomach and feeling the muscles twitch at his touch. Magatsu obligingly leaves off taunting his leader long enough to raise his arms and allow Anotsu to pull the cloth over his head and fling it into a corner.

About to reach for the cord that is the only thing holding Magatsu's kimono together, Anotsu finds himself pausing: he sits back on his heels, staring at his follower's naked upper body; Magatsu's arms are around him impatiently but for a moment he doesn't notice.

“Yeah, it's my body, _danna_ ,” puts in Magatsu at the sudden silence, incredibly turned on and obviously not wanting to slow down. “You've seen it before.”

Anotsu reaches out and touches his shoulder thoughtfully. “I'm just...looking.”

Magatsu's torso, his chest, his stomach, is a network of scars, pale against the dark glow of his skin. Anotsu knows very well his follower's propensity for injury, his doggedness in the face of pain, but has never stopped to consider the symbolic manifestation that these wounds entail, what they might stand for. Anotsu has made many mistakes, though it doesn't show: they are deep, lasting, difficult to admit and tucked away behind his cold front. Magatsu's are simple, writ clear on his much-abused flesh, with no concern for hiding them. To Anotsu they speak of everything that makes him who he is: loyalty, bravery, tenacity, occasional idiocy, and the sight of them this close moves him more than anything Magatsu has let slip tonight in words.

“How many of these scars,” he asks carefully, his hand sliding curiously over them, “were got because you follow me?”

“Plenty,” says Magatsu wryly, capturing his master's hand and kissing it urgently. “But they were mostly my own fault.”

Anotsu leans down, narrow eyes ambiguous, and kisses his chest, tongue flicking out to follow the rough track of a scar downwards. Running his hand across Magatsu's back he finds evidence of many wounds there too, a stark contrast beneath his fingers to the normal skin. Magatsu lets out a sharp exhalation above him as his fingers swiftly untie the cord and push the dark kimono and underrobe off his _kenshi_ 's legs. Anotsu feels Magatsu's hands bury themselves in his hair and another pang of arousal hits him gently; he hurriedly removes the _fundoshi_ , leaving the younger man naked and blushing bright red, though he cannot see this gratified embarrassment himself. He leans against Magatsu's leg and kisses his toned, rigidly tense stomach.

“Shit...” Anotsu hears Magatsu curse softly, shakily, above him as he brushes the tips of his fingers enquiringly over the taller man's erection, then makes a warm hollow of his hand to slide briefly down the length of it, catching a moan. “ _Don't_...you're driving me fuckin' crazy...”

Anotsu kisses him again, lower, smirking slightly at the dismay in his friend's voice, and continues his examination with a pleasurable, nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach. Magatsu's cock is bigger than his own, but then Magatsu is bigger all over; it twitches as though it has a life of its own as he blows a gentle stream of warm air over it, and the young _kenshi_ 's hand clamps down harder in his hair, his abdominal muscles heaving close to Anotsu's face as he gasps for breath. The smaller man wonders briefly what it would be like to do what Magatsu just did to him, though he can't imagine having all that in his mouth. He darts out his pink tongue quickly to satisfy his curiosity a little, and tastes salt; Magatsu's fingers dig into his scalp painfully.

“Fuck!” The youth's hands are trembling, as if unsure whether to pull his master's head away or force him in closer. “You don't have to do that for me, _danna_.”

“Good.” Anotsu gracefully rises back up, pressing his body hard against Magatsu's until he's at a level where he can look him in the eyes. “I'm not going to.” He lets his right thigh rub briefly against Magatsu's erection to see the look on his face, then furrows his slender brows. “You don't deserve it after what you did to me this afternoon.”

His expression makes the younger man realise just how angry he still is. Magatsu reaches up hesitantly and takes his pretty face in both hands.

“ _I'm sorry_ ,” he whispers, looking so distraught that Anotsu can't help but cave in once more, though his own resentment is still turning gently, somewhere in the back of his mind.

“You're not _that_ sorry,” Anotsu states, reaching between them to stroke his follower's insistent hard-on meaningfully. All in all he considers Magatsu to be a pretty fortunate bastard to be in the position he is at the moment and not lying somewhere in a ditch with Anotsu's sword in his gut.

Magatsu can't come up with an answer for that, words not being his forte, and so replies by kissing him again contritely, delicately, his tongue dancing slowly against his leader's. He puts his arms around Anotsu, pulling him closer, caressing his back in supplication.

“You're not just gonna...leave me like this?” he murmurs beseechingly. Anotsu considers the possibility, but only for a fraction of a second, because the meandering throb of desire is sharpening in his own body once more. He places one hand on Magatsu's cheek, a little rough beneath his fingers, and kisses the tight jaw, as much of an answer as he feels like giving. It seems to be enough for Magatsu, who releases a shuddering sigh against his ear. Magatsu's left hand holds him close, while the other slides lingeringly down his smooth back slowly, slowly, taking care not to startle him; he sucks gently at Anotsu's damp neck as his fingers slip tentatively between the round globes of his buttocks.

“Then...can I put it in you?” Magatsu whispers hoarsely, pressing a little deeper to find the tight opening between his legs.

Anotsu stiffens uncomfortably, both at the touch and the crude choice of phrase; but Magatsu's hand is very soothing on his back and his expression is loving if not his words. He wraps one arm around Magatsu's neck, runs his other hand over his cock again, testing the shape of it, the length, trying to imagine it inside him; he turns a little pale, with both apprehension and an arousal he cannot articulate, even to himself, but which subsumes any other considerations in its low-burning intensity.

“You are going to owe me the rest of your life for this,” he whispers, a thrill of nervousness plucking him as Magatsu takes a harsh breath and tugs him even harder against himself.

“That ain't much of a sacrifice.” Magatsu holds him so close that he can no longer see anything else. “If I live a week, if I live thirty years...my life's already yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. The cheese! Just can't hold myself back :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: At the end of this chapter is *ahem* erotic fan art (by me).   
> Be wary if reading in public :)

Anotsu watches nervously, getting that outside-himself feeling again as Magatsu spreads their kimono smoothly on the floor; he obediently settles himself on his stomach, resting his head on his arms, the silk fabric cool beneath his burning cheek. He closes his eyes, waiting for contact. Magatsu kneels there and stares at him for a long minute, drinking in the sight of this man he has spent so many years longing for, glowing like a pale flower against the black cloth, until it takes too much to restrain his adamant body. Anotsu feels the younger man lie down beside him, leaning over him, pushing the long hair off the back of his neck and bending to kiss it. Magatsu's left hand is running across his shoulders reassuringly, and he tries to relax, but the anticipation is making it difficult and he can't help gasping at each touch of Magatsu's lips.

“Calm down, _danna_ ,” Magatsu mouths in his ear, chest brushing his back. “I'm not gonna do anything yet.” He kisses his way along Anotsu's upper arms, where the marks of his tight _shibari_ are still dark and red, a silent apology for causing him distress.

Anotsu nods distractedly, drifting on the memory of pain and his current desires, but can't stop himself tensing as Magatsu's erection juts against his thigh. Magatsu forces himself to be still, lets his head rest calmingly against his master's spine, fingers still wandering in soothing patterns across his back.

“Lift your hips up,” he suggests, placing a hand between the floor and Anotsu's belly and pushing gently, inserting a knee between his legs, giving himself room to touch the smaller man more intimately, stroking him smoothly until he begins to harden again. “Open your legs a bit,” he continues softly, nudging with his knee. Anotsu complies, his breath unsteady, and allows Magatsu's hand to slide lower down his back without complaint. He moans softly as the younger man begins to play with him, cupping his small, firm ass, kneading the flesh, all the while kissing his back hungrily. Magatsu's sly fingers slip between his buttocks again, not intruding yet but stroking the sensitive skin carefully.

“You know how damn beautiful you look like this?” Magatsu whispers suddenly, lasciviously. Anotsu turns his face away into the black of his follower's spread kimono, the scent surrounding him on all sides, not sure he can look his friend in the eye at this moment, and so doesn't see him lick his fingers speculatively. He bites his lip to stop himself crying out as a wet digit pushes its way inside him, the feeling alien and uncomfortable; his hands clutch at the fabric beneath him, trying not to betray his nervousness as the tip of another joins the first, but he is more sensitive here than he imagined, and tight, and Magatsu's fingers are rough with calluses; his tense muscles and stifled sound of distress make the younger man prick up his ears.

“Haven't _you_ ever done this before?” Magatsu murmurs in an opaque tone, not withdrawing his fingers.

“Wh...What's _that_ supposed to mean?” demands Anotsu through gritted teeth, not sure if he should be offended by the inflection in Magatsu's voice. “Of course I haven't!”

“...Oh.” A pause, and to his shock Anotsu feels his _kenshi_ stiffen uncomfortably. “I was kinda hoping _one_ of us knew what he was doing.”

“And why would you assume,” manages Anotsu, the feeling of those fingers still inside him making it hard to have an argument, “that it would be _me_?”

Magatsu shifts, and the older man feels him start to withdraw; he quickly reaches back and grabs Magatsu's wrist, stopping him moving at all.

“Don't...I'm getting used to it. Now, you were about to explain to me?”

The taller man's voice is quiet and embarrassed in his ear. “I dunno...Just, you being so fuckin' pretty,” he says apologetically. “Even when you were a boy, y'know, and all those old dudes hanging around the _dojo_ , I'd kind of assumed...”

Anotsu doesn't know whether his friend deserves to be pitied for his stupidity or slapped in the face. “Are you crazy?! God, Magatsu.” He twists a little to look into his face, but the movement rubs his insides against the fingers invading him and makes him gasp and lie back down. “Is that why you always used to give Araya such filthy looks?”

“Nah, he was just a scumbag,” recalls Magatsu, more comfortable now Anotsu isn't retreating from him. “So...you're really saying you never -”

“I don't give my _ketsu_ to just anyone,” interrupts Anotsu as haughtily as he can manage, given the position he's in.

“But you'll give it to _me_ ,” clarifies Magatsu in a low growl of arousal, his hard-on pressing urgently against his master's leg; he pushes his two fingers a little deeper, thrusting them slowly, tantalisingly in and out, relishing Anotsu's quiet moan. “Just as soon as I work out how to make it good for you.”

“Something...slippery.” Anotsu has to force the words out, hoping he's not the only one thinking logically here. “You'll have to use...oil or something if you don't want to hurt me.” He cries out quietly as Magatsu's free hand squeezes his cock and the fingers rub teasingly against the sensitive flesh inside him. “...You don't want to hurt me, right?” he asks, a little irrational panic surfacing, remembering how this started and wondering how it would have ended if he hadn't persuaded Magatsu to let him go.

“No, _danna_ ,” comes his follower's voice, guiltily, tenderly. The fingers withdraw from inside him, and even that sensation makes his head reel. Magatsu rolls away from him, and goes to dig around on the other side of the room; Anotsu feels oddly bereft at the cold air on his skin and the loss of the weight of the other man's body, and is glad when he returns quickly.

“That will do, I suppose,” he mutters when Magatsu holds up a flask of lamp oil questioningly. The younger _kenshi_ sniffs at it gingerly, then shrugs, sitting back down beside his master. Leaning down, he begins to caress him again, re-warming the slender, nervous body before dipping the fingers of his left hand into the oil, pushing Anotsu's legs further apart and patting his right hip consolingly to try and still his trembling. The slick coating of liquid makes his fingers slide more easily, but Anotsu is anticipating the invasion this time and Magatsu has to work hard before the smaller man can relax enough for him to push past the tight ring of muscle. Once there, however, his first two fingers slip deeper quite readily.

“Slowly!” Anotsu exclaims pleadingly, a low whine escaping him, the muscles in his legs tautening to the verge of cramp; he automatically tries to shift his pelvis away from the intrusion, but Magatsu has his other arm around his hips, preventing him from escaping.

“It's gonna be ok,” the youth reassures him as his fingers begin to move in the tight space, slowly, plunging deeper and withdrawing to the sound of Anotsu's muffled groans. “I ain't gonna hurt you.” He reclines next to his shivering leader, dropping a light kiss to his damp hair and his balled fists. Looking back along Anotsu's arched spine, he adds a third finger, and Anotsu grits his teeth at the feeling, unnaturally full and yet flushed with craving that is only exacerbated by the slight pain. He shuts his eyes again, whimpering as the fingers inside him spread slightly, stretching him; Magatsu's ever-present hard-on is pressing against his hip, and his breath hitches in panic at the thought that it will soon be inside him.

“Oops, shit,” says Magatsu, who has been fiddling around with his free hand at the other end of his body, and if Anotsu had been able to think clearly at this point he would have been worried. “Spilled it.” He gazes at the smaller man's unhappy stance, at the tendons visible in the back of his white knees, and looks thoughtful.

Anotsu, who is beginning to think he might cry from the discomfort and strangeness and is devoting all his attention to preventing this, gives a sudden heavy sigh of pleasure as Magatsu warms the spilled oil in his right hand and closes it around his hesitant erection, working him over with smooth, insistent strokes. The feeling and the idea of Magatsu's fingers inside him changes as he becomes harder into something more pleasurable, and his tense muscles unwind.

Magatsu hears the change in the little sounds that are turning him on almost unbearably, and grins faintly, pushing his fingers more robustly into his master's body. He swallows hard.

“Are you ready, _danna_?” he asks hopefully, his low voice sounding filthy even to him. “Can I try?”

The older man is unable to speak coherently at this point, but Magatsu thinks he sees a swift nod beneath the tousled hair. He tugs lightly on the dark locks until Anotsu's face emerges, narrow eyes glazed with desire, and kisses him quickly on the mouth, before moving backwards to kneel just behind him, trying not to break the contact of his limbs with his master's flesh. He takes more oil in his hands and smooths it liberally onto his own arousal, quickly, as if he thinks anything more will send him over the edge. He rubs his hands along Anotsu's narrow hips reassuringly, then lifts them a little more so that he has better access, the smaller man's back making a pleasing arc against the black silk on which he is lying.

“Spread your legs more,” he prompts, helping his leader along when he doesn't seem to react. Frowning in concentration and curbed excitement, he spreads the round white cheeks below him with both hands, his oiled fingers making the warm flesh glisten; Anotsu's breath is coming entirely too quickly now, his slim chest heaving, and for a moment Magatsu can't really believe that he's actually here and that this isn't the by-product of another weird, injury-induced concussion. He leans forward and presses the tip of his erection against the small opening, pushing very, very slowly, although he finds it is not resisting him too much, having been well prepared.

“Oh my god... _Anotsu_ ,” he murmurs thickly, incoherently, using the name as he rarely does, though he doesn't even know if his master can hear him. With an effort he slides further in, until the tight little passage is gripping the head of his cock, almost too constrictive to bear, causing him to bite his tongue again at the feeling.

Anotsu gives a low, helpless cry as Magatsu begins to push inside him, the sensation of being filled ten times stronger; he feels the sweat break out on his back and struggles to hold himself still, not wanting Magatsu to see the weakness in his face, not when his follower is used to seeing only his strength. A long pause, during which Anotsu composes himself a little, breathing deeply and deliberately, Magatsu's hands massaging his thighs and his ass pacifyingly. Then, just as he thinks he is getting used to the feeling, the younger man begins again, pushing in further, inch by inch, this time taking no notice of Anotsu's moans other than to rub his lower back palliatively, deeper, until Anotsu has to bite down on the cloth of Magatsu's kimono to stop himself yelling.

“That's it, _danna_ ,” whispers Magatsu, his voice shaking, as he sheaths himself fully in the smaller man. Anotsu holds his breath, working through the sensation. It's not pain, not exactly, though he thinks it will be if Magatsu moves another muscle, just utterly strange.

“Please...” he manages, and can't quite form the rest of the sentence. _Please don't move_ , is what he wants to say; he wants to get used to this, doesn't want to be beaten down by it, but doesn't think he can stand it yet. Magatsu, unfortunately, seems to interpret this as a request for something else, and takes a deep breath, leaning forward so that his torso brushes Anotsu's back, lowering them both a little so that his mouth can reach his master's shoulders. The change of angle, to Anotsu, seems to penetrate him even deeper, and he can't help writhing against it, immediately wishing he hadn't as Magatsu heaves another jerky breath and begins to move, hands gripping his hips painfully as he retreats as slowly as he had gone in, the feeling in reverse just as awful, just as incredible to the older _kenshi_.

“You...are so... _amazing_ ,” Magatsu mutters disconnectedly, kissing the nape of Anotsu's neck, long hair beneath his lips, before clenching his jaw and thrusting back into him in one movement.

“Aahhh...hh!” Anotsu muffles his yell with a face full of cloth, tears springing to his eyes, but the feeling does not depart. Magatsu begins to stroke his cock with slick fingers, and he turns his head to the side unthinkingly, gulping air, weeping now without even being aware that he's doing any such thing. He can feel every distinct curve of the younger man's cock, can feel the blood pulsing inside it, and has no idea how he's come to this, only that he couldn't stop if he wanted to.

Magatsu draws back and continues with some quick, shallow strokes, almost ashamed of how aroused he is by the expression of pain and terrified pleasure on Anotsu's tear-streaked face, how delicious it is to see the man without the mask of cool beauty by which everyone else knows him. He grips his master's erection harder, perfect like the rest of him, and begins to move faster, settling into his natural rhythm, deeper and more forceful, the sensitive flesh of the hot, moist passage retreating before him and gripping him with each thrust, until it seems like this is the only place he has ever been happy, as though he'll be here forever.

“You still ok?” he asks hazily after a while, half noting the convulsive grip of Anotsu's hands on the cloth, the rhythmic sound of his moans and the deep flush at the base of his spine. No answer for a long time, no sign that his master can even hear him.

“Nn...aaahh, _god_ -” Anotsu bites down on a curse, the blood rushing to his head and his arousal as Magatsu hits a spot inside him that makes him lose his vision, combining with his follower's skilled hand on his erection to create a pleasure that makes the muscles in his limbs turn to water. Magatsu makes a perplexed, astonished face, trying to work out what he had done to cause such a reaction, hearing Anotsu groan in frustration at the loss of the feeling. After a few careful thrusts he finds it again, judging by the smaller man's cry as he flings his head back in a curtain of long hair that hits Magatsu in the face.

“ _Right_... _there_...” Anotsu forces out, remarkably articulate, leaning up on his forearm and reaching back with one small hand to cover Magatsu's, moving both their fingers over his hard-on, guiding the younger man until it is perfect. He spreads his legs wider and this time Magatsu locates the spot more easily, his cock brushing against it with each thrust and drawing a strangled sob from his master's throat.

Anotsu thinks he might die from this unheard-of, at least to him, delight, and believes it wouldn't be a bad way to go; he braces his slim legs against Magatsu's renewed enthusiasm, taking each stroke harder; the young _kenshi_ has wrapped his long hair around one hand and is drawing his head back, biting lightly at his shoulders, not letting him stifle his moans but revelling in each sound of helpless pleasure he is creating with the exquisitely brutal mixture of his cock and his hands and his mouth. The pressure builds for what seems an appallingly long time, until he wants to smash his fist on the ground and make it be over; Magatsu tugs his head round and kisses him, open-mouthed, heatedly; he feels the taller man, who is panting like crazy above him, speed up yet again and the delicious friction is too much; he squeezes the hand that grips his arousal and as the youth thrusts deeply into him he screws his eyes shut and gives a breathless yell of climax, all his muscles spasming unbearably and his seed spattering warm and white like petals onto his stomach. He doesn't breathe for what seems like ten seconds, but dimly hears Magatsu let out a hoarse growl above him as his ass grips the younger man's hard-on even tighter; Magatsu's fingernails stab deep into the flesh of his hips, and with a dozen more powerful strokes he also climaxes, biting down on some indistinct nonsense word. Anotsu's eyes open wide as he feels the spurt of hot, sticky liquid inside him, another alien feeling but one that he welcomes as a sign of his complete victory.

Magatsu collapses onto his back, knocking him down to the floor and the breath from his lungs. He wraps his arms around his master's waist, kissing the back of his neck again and again, until he has to stop and do some intensive breathing of his own. Anotsu raises his hand, unseeing, and cups Magatsu's bruised cheek behind him, stroking it wordlessly; the younger man quickly intakes enough oxygen and begins kissing him once more; Anotsu leans up and catches his mouth exhaustedly, satiated. Reluctantly Magatsu pulls out of him, and the emptiness hits his body like a loss, though he is now able to relax. He wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, unsure now why he was crying at all.

“Are you planning to let me up, or what?” he asks his prone follower after a time, having no strength left to push him off and feeling crushed beneath Magatsu's limp weight.

“Ehhh...if I must,” mutters Magatsu in a lazy, complaining but really delighted tone. He rolls over onto his back, tugging Anotsu with him to lie sore and drowsy against his chest. “Y'know, _danna_ ,” he murmurs with an exhausted grin, holding the smaller man to him covetously, “that was prob'ly the most worthwhile thing I've ever done in my life.” He yawns hugely.

“Very sincere, Magatsu.” Anotsu wriggles a little, draping one leg across him, trying to find a position that doesn't make him ache. “I think your kimono will need a wash,” he remarks, trying to find small things to say because he can think of nothing to express the bizarre concoction of slight regret and unaccustomed content that hangs on his heart with a pleasant weight; but thinks that if he stops talking he will immediately fall asleep against Magatsu's warmth, and doesn't want to seem rude by doing so.

Magatsu turns his head to the side and inhales the scents on the now somewhat sticky black cloth. “Nah, I'll leave it. Smells like you. Knowing my luck it'll only get ripped up anyway sooner or later.” He runs one hand dreamily through Anotsu's long hair, and with the other stretches out to grab his white underrobe and drag it over their bodies against the chill of the night air; Anotsu doesn't think he will ever be cold again, with the memory of this encounter to heat him.

“What was it like?” Magatsu asks curiously, idly, “me fucking you?”

Anotsu's mouth curls in a tired, speculative smile. “You want to find out?” he murmurs aggressively, teasingly.

“Er, nah, that's fine, _danna_ ,” Magatsu says quickly, waving his hands. “It's plenty enough just givin' it to you.”

“Well then.”

Magatsu pipes down and embarks on a mild crisis of masculinity by himself at the thought of it, clutching the smaller man to him all the while. Anotsu drifts.

“Magatsu...how do we go on?” he whispers, the vast complications of his own life, their violent goals breaking upon his mind like a silent wave. No answer. He tilts his head, and sees that Magatsu's eyes have dropped closed; a minute after that he begins snoring. Anotsu rolls his eyes, envying him his priorities, and holds him tightly as an hour slips by.

  
  


“You want to go _again_?” Anotsu gapes at his _kenshi_ , who has just woken up after what is, to him, a refreshing nap, and to the older man is barely time to stop stinging. “What is _wrong_ with you, Magatsu, you start complaining if you have to climb two hills in a row!”

“ _Danna_ , I'm _nineteen_. Y'know what they say about that.” Magatsu raises his eyebrows hopefully, suggestively, and pounces, dragging Anotsu into a sleepy sitting position and tugging at him until he is straddling the younger man's hips.

“Well thank god you're almost twenty, that's all I can say.”

Magatsu looks up at him, pale and naked and perfect, and smiles as if every one of his hopes for life has been fulfilled.

  
  


Later, Anotsu repeats his question, leaning back against Magatsu's chest. Magatsu furrows his eyebrows and pushes a hand through his hair.

“Go on? What d'you mean? We just...get up and keep fighting the good fight. For as long as we can.”

“But...this...” Anotsu waves a white hand to indicate the events of the day. “What does it mean? I know what you feel, now. But what does it _mean_?”

“Shit, _danna_ ,” sighs Magatsu, resting his chin on the top of his master's head contemplatively. “Why do you make your life so hard?”

“I didn't think it was until tonight,” Anotsu retorts quietly, wondering if they have been as selfish as he thinks they have been, or whether he really is overreacting. He thinks of Makie, and feels a twinge of guilt. “But...in the future, will we ever -”

“The future!” exclaims Magatsu, raising his legs to enfold his leader even tighter in his embrace. “Who was it who said he couldn't see a future, huh? Who knows what'll happen! I might not live to see next week, _danna_ , but even if I don't, or even if I hang on 'till I'm fifty, I'll always know you're _mine_ , 'cause of this one night; and you'll know what it really means for me to be loyal. Am I right, or what?”

Anotsu kisses the muscular forearm that holds him close, a gesture of gratitude, almost. He knows that tomorrow they will leave this behind, on their way to the Mito and the winter, and with it will come his own coldness, his own painful logic and ambition, and Magatsu will be his uncomplaining follower again. But for this night, he will let himself be held, and hold onto a future, something, somewhere, where he might feel such simplicity again.

 

* * *

 

 

And here is some dirty fanart!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. Now Magatsu can go off and get himself stabbed again, as he seems to do every five minutes.


End file.
